


Something Borrowed, Something Blue

by Dorky_Hedgehog



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Ballroom Dancing, F/F, Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Nobility, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorky_Hedgehog/pseuds/Dorky_Hedgehog
Summary: Madeline Bruguière was the belle of the ball; beautiful, graceful, quiet. Every available person in Paris would've died to have her hand in marriage, so why did she turn down every single offer? It couldn't possibly be because of the oil baron's child, Harriet Corriveau.Set in Victorian England, a time where status and propriety toppled all, in which two hopeless romantics find themselves lost in a maze of duty, love, and learning what truly makes one happy.





	1. Chapter 1

_Dear Mademoiselle Madeline Bruguière,_

_It is with a full and flourishing heart that I write to you for last night I had the most wonderful dream of you. We were taking a stroll by the lake when a parade of stunning flowers in every color of the rainbow came floating by. It was a strange sight, but I plucked one from the river - a pretty little marigold with petals like the sun - and placed it behind your ear. It looked ravishing with your milky skin and shimmering green eyes. Oh, I couldn’t look away!_

_When I awoke, there was a heavy feeling in my chest, one of despair and a longing not unfamiliar to me. I realized I could never share such a blissful moment with you here on this Earth, for its only mission is to keep us apart. I shall never get to see a marigold in your hair or watch your happy face in the reflection of the river._

_I am certain there would no one more suited to be your mate as I. You’re such a fragile soul; so sweet an innocent, yet your heart is locked away in a tower so high that only the bravest of souls are willing to climb it and claim you for their own. What I wouldn’t give to be your brave prince and to lead you from that tower into a better life. With me, you would want for nothing. I would shower you in diamonds, silks, and a love greater than one could ever know._

_How truly tragic it is that we will never be together. My father wishes me to marry within our status, though your family is not but a single step below us. And you, my beloved Madeline, are so beautiful, I am sure there are a thousand suitors waiting to ask for your hand. I know it! I see the piles of letters on your desk, the heaps of gift boxes sitting at your doorstep._

_But I wish to ask you: why do you leave them unopened? Surely you know we could never be, even if your heart beats for me as much as mine for you?_

_With love,_

_Lady Harriet Corriveau_

Harriet folded the letter and sealed it with a stamp, careful as if it would crumble under her touch. Watching the wax dry, she wondered why she was wasting ink on a letter she’d never send.

It was futile to dream of a life she couldn’t have, to imagine a future she’d never see come to life in front of her. Of course, if her family had their way, Harriet would think only of business and never anything more. Her father wanted her to be like him; marry, do what needed to be done, then never talk to your spouse again. Harriet couldn’t stand it. There was never any love in her house. It was always about duty, the things you had to do simply because that’s how things were. She grew up alone in a palace made of marble and stone.

Deep down in her very soul, Harriet was a romantic. She wore her heart on her sleeve and kept her arms open wide for anyone who needed them. Strange how those who grow up with so little love have the biggest hearts.

Sighing, she shoved the letter into the very last drawer of her desk and looked around the room. It was pitch black besides for the single candle burning beside her and the streaks of moonlight shining in through the windows. All she could make out was the faintest silhouette of her grand canopy bed and the polished wooden trunk at its foot.

After a moment of thought, Harriet rose from her seat and kneeled over the trunk, lifting its heavy lid. Inside sat a white, silken dress wrapped in thin layers of protective gauze. She revealed it to the light, admiring the embroidered bodice, ruffled sleeves, and full, billowy skirt trailing all the way to the ground.

She’d seen the dress a thousand times, maybe more, in old family wedding photos. It once belonged to her grandmother, and her mother before her, and so on and so forth. It was a strange Corriveau tradition to hold onto that dress, as it would bring you luck and prosperity at the altar. It must’ve held true. Ever since Harriet’s great-great-great grandmother slipped on that fateful gown, her family faced nothing but great fortune. It was because of that dress the Corriveau’s found of their way into nobility and stayed there.

She admired the dress, a waterfall of white lace in her arms, and she couldn't help but wonder what Madeline would look like walking down the aisle in it. Harriet would wear her best suit, but by the end, it would be stained with tears. Madeline would be standing beside her, lift her hands to Harriet’s face and wipe her woes away.

 _“Why are you crying, my love?”_ She would ask, a veil still covering her beautiful eyes.

Harriet would just smile and take her hand.

_“Because I love you so much.”_

 

*

 

When Madeline woke up that morning, there was a pile of boxes stacked sky-high on her desk. She groaned at the sight of them, sneering at their delicate ribbons and pretty paper before she flopped back onto the feather bed. She squeezed her eyes tight, hoping to drift back to sleep, but even with the heavy blinds shut, she could still feel the sun shining its golden light into her bedroom.

She let her feet drag her to stand, stretching as a knock suddenly echoed through the room. Miss. Rose-Marie, her lady’s maid, came bustling into the room, her arms full of fresh, lemon-scented linens. Her brows were furrowed as she mumbled to herself, shuffling back and forth between the bed and the closet in a hurry.

“Good morning, Miss. Rosie,” Madeline chimed, throwing her pale yellow robe over her shoulders.

Miss. Rosie couldn’t be less than twenty years older than Madeline herself, but you’d be fooled. She was thin yet short with narrow shoulders and tender baby-blue eyes that glimmered like the sea. She didn’t have wrinkles around her mouth or prickly temperament that came with age. Miss. Rosie was the grandmother Madeline never had, sweet and gentle, always there to offer a kind word of well-earned wisdom.

“Morning, madam,” Miss. Rosie said, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead. Not a moment later, she dropped the pile of linens onto the bed with a huff. “I’m getting much too old for this. Two more years and I’ll drop dead in this very spot!”

Madeline laughed. “Why don’t you retire then? You’ve certainly earned it. Even after all these years, no one has taken better care of me than you.”

“And that’s precisely why I can’t leave just yet. You’re still so young, and I have so much more to teach you. Besides-” she began, glaring daggers at the boxes on the desk as if she could ignite them with nothing more than her fury- “we still have to figure out what to do with all of that.”

Madeline made her way over to the desk with a sigh, running her fingers over each box, the delicate wrapping rough to the touch. Every part of her wanted to hurl them out the window and watch them sink to the bottom of the river, never again to feel the warmth of the sun, but she knew better. _A lady shall never act on such a whim,_ her mother would say. She’d simply toss them deep into the abyss of her closet like all the others. The letters would find themselves at the bottom of her desk, the intricate wax seals never even scratched.

She’d be lying if she said she never looked at them. She did every once and a while, hoping to find one particular named inked into the page. It wasn’t uncommon to find one of her personal correspondences tangled with the dozens of meaningless love letters that made their way into her hands, but deep down, she always had a secret desire that one day it wouldn’t be a mistake.

Madeline met Harriet Corriveau when she was only ten years old when her parents brought her along to some friend’s picnic one spring afternoon, the flowers freshly bloomed and the grass glistening with a thin layer of dew. There were people in every corner of the park, chatting and laughing around tables filled with delicious cakes and tarts. It took every ounce of strength for Madeline not to rush over to it and grab every sweet she could get her little hands on.

Madeline’s mother had dressed her in an adorable pink dress that day - though, at the time, she found it anything but pleasant. She hated the poofy sleeves and stiff skirt that made it _oh so_ hard to run. The stockings were itchy against her legs, the big pink bow on her head slipping down, and her shoes squeezing her feet so tight it felt as though her toes would bleed.

She did everything she could to get out of that godforsaken dress. She tried removing it, slipping the stockings right off and wiggling her toes out of her shoes, but her mother caught her every time. She tried ruining it, wondering if she stained it enough, her mother would bring her home to change into something more comfortable. However, her father managed to catch the spills before they could get any further than her chin. Finally, Madeline went over to where a group of boys were skipping stones by the lake. She found herself at the very edge, ready to jump, but her parents grabbed her by the arms before her feet even left the ground.

She screamed and cried as they dragged her towards a tent in the middle of the park, her pale face cherry-red and her throat hoarse. Inside, two men dressed in fine waistcoats and trousers stood in front of a table of tiny cakes, a child stationed between them. Madeline knew the men as the Lords of the Corriveau Estate, the town’s infamous oil-barons. They came around Madeline’s home every so often for dinner parties and to discuss business with her father, but she’d never seen the child before.

“Ah, Messier Bruguière! Thank you ever so much for coming. We’re so glad you and your family could to make it,” one of the men said, the taller of the two. He had dazzling green eyes and hair dark like the night, and he stretched to wrap his arm around the other man - his husband, Madeline assumed. His movements seemed robotic, somehow, as if every shift and shuffled had been planned.

“Certainly,” Madeline’s father said, “the moment we received your letter in the mail, we knew we couldn’t possibly decline. You and your husband are famous for your picnics, and for good reason I see.”

The man smiled. “You’re welcome here anytime, messier. Oh,” he added, gesturing to the child, “I don’t believe you’ve met our little Harriet yet? Come, darling.”

The child, Harriet, straightened up at the sound of her name. For a split second, her eyes were wide and her hands seemed to shake, but her mouth melted into a bright smile before Madeline could blink. She couldn’t have been a year younger than Madeline herself - eleven, maybe twelve years old - but her perfectly tailored jacket and slicked-back auburn hair made her seem centuries wiser than her young face suggested.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, messier, madam.” She bowed at the elders before turning to Madeline, a sudden warmth in her beautiful brown eyes. “Mademoiselle.”

Messier Bruguière held out his hand, and Harriet shook it with vigor. “Wonderful to meet you, Mademoiselle Corriveau. I look forward to getting to know you.”

“And I you, Messier.”

After a moment, Madeline's mother stepped forward, taking Madeline with her. She froze on the spot, her blood freezing in her veins as if all the world’s eyes were on her. She never did well being in the center of attention, but it was worse now with her bunched up stocking and wrinkled skirt.

“I’m sure you remember my daughter, Madeline. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her.” Madeline gave a weak curtsy, but her mother rattling on. “She’s learning Italian, my family’s language. Go on, Madeline, show them what you’ve been working on.”

Her mouth went dry. All she could focus on was Harriet and her shiny hair and soft skin. She couldn’t wrap her head around what was so special about this newcomer. Her clothing maybe? Not many women chose to wear more masculine clothes, and certainly not children for that matter. Or maybe it was her posture, straight as a board with her hands held to her sides, more charming than awkward.

Madeline suddenly felt something warm against her hand. She left her dazed to find that Harriet kissing her knuckle, sparking a trail of tingles through her body. It was then that their eyes met for the first time. Staring into Harriet’s big brown eyes, her heart soared so high it felt as though it would fall to its death, nor could she help the blush that found its way to her cheeks.

It had been a long time since that meeting, but the fluttering in Madeline’s chest whenever Harriet came about never went away, even as their friendship grew and grew. Madeline wouldn’t consider them the best of friends. No, they were so much more than that. There was always this unspoken truth about them, one everyone saw but them. They had a bond that transcended the threshold of friendship but never went any further, even if they longed for it.

Madeline’s adolescent heart always seemed to betray her in the regards of love. She had no way of knowing if Harriet had any other fondness for her besides for their friendship as she did for her. In her mind, Madeline knew nothing would blossom between the two of them, even if their souls lead them to hope so. The Bruguières were simply too low in status. The Corriveaus had strict rules when it came to marrying. One could marry whomever they chose as long as they were of the same social and economic class, and Madeline missed the mark by millimeter.

She never believed she’d find Harriet’s courting letter in the mix, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dream.

“I’m going to have to choose someone eventually,” Madeline huffed, making her way over to the full-length mirror on the opposite wall to her desk. She studied her reflection, grazing her fingers over her delicate skin to check for blemishes. Nothing yet, but she felt all her worries would soon lead to a spot or two.

“Don’t worry yourself with that now, love. You still have plenty of time before you have to settle down. You only debuted this fall, and clearly, there are _many_ deserving suitors coming your way.”

Madeline sighed, “I don’t want to be deserved or earned, I want to be loved. Yes, these suitors might have money and power and fame, but what else?”

“You’ll have to wait and see.”

“By then it’ll be too late! Soon enough I’ll be an old maid! I don’t want to live my life lost and alone.”

Rosie placed a gentle hand on her cheek.

“You have such a fragile heart, and no matter how I dread to see it break, it will. You’re old enough now to know the world no longer runs on flesh and blood, but coal and steel. Not everything will always be as you dream, but we find it in ourselves to power through, as I’m sure you will. Now,” she said as she made her way to the closet, “let’s get you dressed. I believe you have a date with Lady Corriveaus this afternoon? You must look your best, no?”

Madeline blushed. “I-it’s not a date!”

“And clouds aren’t white and the sun doesn’t shine,” Miss Rosie quipped, pulling a lovely blue dress out of the wardrobe.

Madeline knew from experience it was Harriet’s favorite of her dresses. She wore it once last summer when they took a spontaneous stroll out into the gardens. All Harriet could do as they walked was stare at the delicate frills lining the low-cut collar of the gown. She even ignored the sprouting carnations along the pathways - the symbol on her family’s crest!

Maybe it was that, or maybe it was the embroidered bodice and billowing skirt that trailed all the way to the ground, but for some reason, Madeline always felt best in that gown. It was as though a spell washed over her every time she put in on. Suddenly she wasn’t Madeline the shy Bruguière, but a beautiful princess locked away in a tower. Now all she needed was a prince to rescue her.

How unfortunate it was that the one she wished for most could never climb it.


	2. Chapter 2

The garden was, by far, Harriet’s favorite place in the Bruguière estate. Hydrangeas up to her waist lined the stone walkways, the sound of hummingbirds and rustling leaves filling the warm air. The pavilion in which Madeline and Harriet shared their Saturday morning tea was carved with marble pillars, vines curling up onto the glass roof where a dozen tiny flowers sprouted from the cracks. In the center of it all sat a small rounded table glistening in the sunlight.

Madeline stood over the table, a porcelain teapot steaming from the spout in her hand as she poured sugar into a jar beside a pitcher of marigolds. The sun-stained petals created a beautiful contrast with the baby-blue cloth draped over the table and the matching bows strung about the awning of the pavilion.

Never before had Madeline gone out of her way to decorate the spot like this, so lavish and, dare she say, romantic.

Harriet took a moment to smooth down her short brown hair before she took a step forward and cleared her throat. Madeline startled at the sound but smiled the moment her eyes landed upon her. Abandoning the teapot, she sprinted to greet her guest.

“Welcome, my friend, welcome!” She cheered, grabbing Harriet’s hand and leading her to her seat. “Come sit! It feels as though I’ve been waiting all morning for you!"

Harriet laughed, “You no longer have to welcome me, Madeline. I’ve been here enough times to exclude such formalities.”

That must’ve been her favorite part of these serene little meetings - besides the hostess herself, of course. Harriet always found all the rules and etiquette that came with nobility exhausting. It was tiring having to constantly watch your words, wonder if your bow was low enough or if your handshake was firm enough. Here, Harriet got the rare chance to let manners disappear under the pavilion’s roof. Instead, there was laughter and light and love. It was here she had the honor of seeing Madeline as she truly was, careless and gentle and free.

“I see, but I think it’s nice to know someone wants you around. That’s what a welcome does, no?” Madeline asked, filling each cup before taking her seat across from Harriet.

“I suppose,” Harriet said. She reached for the sugar jar, and after giving it a good shake, proceeded to pour half its contents into her cup. She took a small sip, letting it rest on her tongue.

Madeline scoffed, rolling her eyes with a still lingering smile. “However do you drink that? Surely it’s much too sweet?”

“I could say the same for you. How do you not gag at the bitterness? And, if you must know,” she added, “I prefer sweet things. It explains why I am  _ oh so _ fond of you.”

“Oh? Well then, Lady Corriveau, I’d like to know just what part of me you find so compelling?” Madeline fired back.

“Where to start? For one thing, your voice is like that of a mockingbird, melodic and innocent. Your cheeks are so round and pink with blush I wonder if you were born from a rose and not your dam. Your hair is like a crown of the most beautiful poppies, elegant, unmatched in their beauty. You are, in fact, so sweet that it’s sickening to think someone will someday believe themselves deserving of your hand, though I doubt such a person exists. Though, they do try.”

At that, Madeline snorted, leaning over and resting her hand on her cheek in a manner that would have her dear mother quaking. “I wish they’d refrain from trying at all. I grow tired of waking up with a million boxes and cards at my feet.”

“How can you blame them? You are beautiful and kind, intelligent yet silently so.” Harriet said, “What more could one want from a partner? Surely you understand this?”

“Oh, I understand fine, but whether or not I care is the question. Truthfully, I have no desire for anyone who calls for me. They are after my status, the reputation I’ve earned after years of delicate training. Whoever it is they admire in the public’s eye is not me, but the person I let them see.”

“How do you expect to find someone who sees you, then, if you never take off that mask?”

Madeline went quiet, staring down at her gloved hands, draped across her lap. She slid them off one-by-one, letting the gentle silk caress her fingertips. She gazed up at Harriet with those sad, sparkling eyes and smiled.

“I don’t,” she said. “The one person I desire most is the only one I cannot have. We’re on two different paths in life, but I can’t help but think if I just keeping following her, heaven will reward me. It’s a hollow hope, but I shan't ever stop dreaming.”

“Who is this you speak of?” Harriet begged, her heart pounding hard against her chest. “Who is so cruel as to break your heart?” For a moment, she let herself believe that, by some miracle, Madeline wished for Harriet as Harriet wished for her.

“That I cannot say for I fear it would cause more trouble than it’s worth. Somethings... are better left unsaid.”

Without a moment's hesitation, Harriet grabbed her bare hands from across the table, her cold fingers melting in her grasp. Such a gesture was reserved for intimate moments like this - when they were alone with no one but the birds and the roses to judge them.

“Love,” Harriet said, “is worth any risk.”

Not a second later, a shout rang through the air, calling Madeline’s name. Miss. Rosie came scampering down the stone path, her face beat-red and her skirt wrinkled up to her ankles. She held a letter in on hand and a woven basket filled with herbs in the other. She dipped into a small curtsey to Harriet before turning to Madeline.

“I’m dreadfully sorry to disturb your morning, Mademoiselle, but your mother’s requested you return to the house immediately. She insists it’s urgent!”

She held out the letter for Madeline who ripped it from her maid’s hands and began to scan it. The more she read, the colder her gaze became. Anger, Harriet couldn’t help but think, did not suit such a sweet face. No longer did her caramel eyes hold the warmth and kindness that Harriet so adored. Instead, they were hard with resentment and irritation, like the words on the page were a pest flying above her head and buzzing in her ears.

" _ No,” _ Madeline said, crushing the paper in her palm.

“I apologize,” Rosie begged, “but I’m afraid this is not something you may object to.”

“No, I say! Whomever this Lord Louis is will have to wait! If he was so desperate to meet me, he would’ve arranged an appointment long ago. I will _ not _ have my afternoon wreaked by some strange man! Not  _ again! _ ”

“Madeline-”

“Enough! I shan't abandon my guest for something so impromptu!”

After a moment of hesitation, Harriet took a step forward. “It’s alright if you must go. I take no offence, if that’s what worries you so.”

She’d seen these little scraps between Madeline and her maid more times than she could count in her childhood, but few in adulthood. Madeline simply had more composure now than when she was a child, though her stubborn nature did leak through from time to time. Especially when they were interrupted, such as this. Harriet knew better than to get between them, but somehow, she felt inclined to do so now, even if it pained her.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Madeline wailed, “Tis’ I who doesn’t want to leave you!”

“Madeline, dear, you’re causing a scene.” Miss Rosie held her shoulders as if to to rock her. “Please, your mother will have my head if you don’t come. I know how much you value your time with Mademoiselle Corriveau, but be sensible!”

“My mother is the one being unsensible! She knows I have arrangements Saturday mornings yet she continues to pull me away for such silly things. I do not appreciate her schemes one bit! However,” Madeline sighed, giving Miss. Rosie a pained smile, “I shall go, but only for you. I would hate to see you reprimanded for my bolshiest nature, no matter how justified it may be.”

“Thank you, Mademoiselle,” Miss. Rosie cheered, “Now, say  _ adieu _ to your guest and come along. I shall meet you at the end of the path in a few moments.”

With that Miss. Rosie turned away, leaving Madeline and Harriet alone once again. The sour air had disappeared between them, leaving them to bask in the sorrows of good-bye. By now, the tea was cold to the touch and the table was covered in the same fallen leaves as the ground beneath them. Seconds passed like centuries, but Harriet could not find it in herself to say the first farwell. Nevertheless, it was Madeline who lowered herself into a gentle curtsey and said:

“How tragic it is our plans have been foiled once again. I adore these hours together more than the sun in the sky. Your time, I assure you, will be compensated, but I understand if you wish to cease these meetings in all. We’ve been met with some rather unfortunate circumstances as of late.”

“How can someone so smart say such foolish things?” Harriet laughed, hushing her. “Every moment together is well-spent. Perhaps next week we should meet for lunch at my estate instead? I’m certain we will meet few interruptions there.”

Madeline’s face went red. “I-I would like nothing more, but without a chaperone, my mother would never let it be!”

“Your mother allows us to meet here in the garden unaccompanied every week, and I doubt she is able to guard us from the bay windows. I will personally speak to your mother if need be, but I’m confident such an arrangement will cause no trouble.”

“You underestimate my mother’s nature. She is as stubborn as I, if not more so!”

“Now that just can’t be,” Harriet quipped, “for the only thing more stubborn than you is a bull.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> So this is a new project I've been working on for a while. Admitably, it's still very much underbaked, if you know what I mean. I don't know where it's going or if I'll complete it at all, however, I love these characters and the idea of this story, so inspiration could strike.
> 
> With that said, if you liked it, leave a comment or a kudos to let me know if you want more.
> 
> Ciao!


End file.
